I guess it's over now. Marv is gone, Roland is dead, and all that's left is Brad and myself. I thought more of Marv, really. I thought he...I don't know...I just thought he was my friend, you know? I guess it doesn't matter anymore though. We found our way into the casino at least. I don't know what for, but we had the deed for it. It's funny. Everyone was expecting the place to be full of bandits or roughnecks, but that wasn't true at all. There were a number of people inside that were using it for their home. I can't help but to wonder if the others were disappointed. I wasn't though. I would have been more than happy if we could end our journey on a nice note. Unfortunately, that was not the case.
That Roland. He was trouble from the very beginning. The man who threw my flower to the ground weeks ago screamed from outside the casino doors for Roland to show his face. Before I knew it, I was huddled behind a counter with an arrow nocked, waiting and listening for everything to fall apart. That's when Marv ran away. I understand why he did; it makes total sense. Why would he want to fight? I can't blame him for sharing my opinion. It was quiet for just a short moment before Brad and Roland charged out from behind their boxes towards the group of thugs that man was with. I just sat there and hid with my face in my knees like a coward.
It was only a year ago today that it happened...when everything happened. My mom was in bed sleeping and my dad was out getting medicine for her. It was beautiful outside that day, you know. Warm, sunny, not a blemish on this war-torn earth from where I was kneeling. I dug around in the cool earth and planted small, shriveled seeds of beans and peppers with the bright hope of giving way to some sort of life. I was so happy. I wanted to just sit there and watch them, as if they'd grow just from my hope and excitement, but a watched pot never boils. At least, that's what mom said. I stuck small twigs and sticks with leaves impaled on the top of them to mark my garden. It may have been small, but it was mine. It didn't rain that day, I remember. I had to steal some of our drinking water to give to my soon-to-be sprouts, even though we had been running low. I remember leaning back and staring up at the sky, wishing and praying for the clouds to come, even if it meant ruining the velvety blue view. Mom didn't like when I sat in the dirt. She said it ruined my dress, but I didn't think dirt could ruin anything. As far as I was concerned, dirt gave way to life. I enjoyed the feeling of the mud under my fingernails and thick soil under my bare feet. While I had been indulging in my tiny plot of a garden, dad came home. His eyes were dark and he avoided my gaze. I looked up at him in a way that presented my pride for what I planted, but he didn't give it his attention. Even the air around him seemed cold...it gave me shivers up my back and made my face hot with confusion. Dad always loved my garden...but not on that day.
From behind me I heard the first dry creak of the front door's hinges, but not the second. We never left the door open, not once. I remember wracking my brain with things that could make him act like that, but I was left without an answer. Maybe we were out of money, or maybe he is exhausted from the trip to the market, or maybe he knew I used the water for my garden...but none of these would warrant such a reaction from him. Even in the darkest times, he'd always put a smile on his face for me.
The temperature rose in the afternoon as I hugged my knees and dug my toes into the dusty soil and I could feel my skin on my shoulders growing tighter as it burned under the hot sun. No sound came from inside the house and I started to worry. My back cracked as I stretched upward and I stumbled dizzily into the door, closing it with a soft click behind me. I crept slowly and quietly towards my parents' room, trying my best not to make a sound. I hadn't known it at the time, but the pulse of my heart that pounded in my ears was justified. What was I so afraid of? It wasn't until I peaked around the corner did I know. My dad stood stoically over the frail frame of my mother. She wasn't breathing anymore. She wasn't there. His knees hit the hardwood floor with a crack that made my take in the air around me instantly. I clapped my hand over my mouth and my tears made salty mud from the dirt that caked my hands. That's where I made my mistake. I should have cried. I should have made a sound, because it was only a few second after that his head jolted back and the plastic orange bottle with the white lid dropped to the floor. It bounced and spiraled in a tight circle, weightless. I sat there and watched as his tired body collapsed to the ground and white foam bubbled from his lips. It was just like that. I was too late.
And it was just like that. Roland was dead with a dagger in his chest, Marv fled for his life, and I hid behind the counter just like I did last year. It doesn't matter who was alive now and it doesn't matter that I finally fired an arrow at the man who threw my flower to the ground. All that matters is that two more people are gone because I was too afraid to do anything to stop it.
I guess it's over now. Marv is gone, Roland is dead, and all that's left is Brad and myself. I thought more of Marv, really. I thought he...I don't know...I just thought he was my friend, you know? I guess it doesn't matter anymore though. We found our way into the casino at least. I don't know what for, but we had the deed for it. It's funny. Everyone was expecting the place to be full of bandits or roughnecks, but that wasn't true at all. There were a number of people inside that were using it for their home. I can't help but to wonder if the others were disappointed. I wasn't though. I would have been more than happy if we could end our journey on a nice note. Unfortunately, that was not the case.
That Roland. He was trouble from the very beginning. The man who threw my flower to the ground weeks ago screamed from outside the casino doors for Roland to show his face. Before I knew it, I was huddled behind a counter with an arrow nocked, waiting and listening for everything to fall apart. That's when Marv ran away. I understand why he did; it makes total sense. Why would he want to fight? I can't blame him for sharing my opinion. It was quiet for just a short moment before Brad and Roland charged out from behind their boxes towards the group of thugs that man was with. I just sat there and hid with my face in my knees like a coward.
It was only a year ago today that it happened...when everything happened. My mom was in bed sleeping and my dad was out getting medicine for her. It was beautiful outside that day, you know. Warm, sunny, not a blemish on this war-torn earth from where I was kneeling. I dug around in the cool earth and planted small, shriveled seeds of beans and peppers with the bright hope of giving way to some sort of life. I was so happy. I wanted to just sit there and watch them, as if they'd grow just from my hope and excitement, but a watched pot never boils. At least, that's what mom said. I stuck small twigs and sticks with leaves impaled on the top of them to mark my garden. It may have been small, but it was mine. It didn't rain that day, I remember. I had to steal some of our drinking water to give to my soon-to-be sprouts, even though we had been running low. I remember leaning back and staring up at the sky, wishing and praying for the clouds to come, even if it meant ruining the velvety blue view. Mom didn't like when I sat in the dirt. She said it ruined my dress, but I didn't think dirt could ruin anything. As far as I was concerned, dirt gave way to life. I enjoyed the feeling of the mud under my fingernails and thick soil under my bare feet. While I had been indulging in my tiny plot of a garden, dad came home. His eyes were dark and he avoided my gaze. I looked up at him in a way that presented my pride for what I planted, but he didn't give it his attention. Even the air around him seemed cold...it gave me shivers up my back and made my face hot with confusion. Dad always loved my garden...but not on that day.
From behind me I heard the first dry creak of the front door's hinges, but not the second. We never left the door open, not once. I remember wracking my brain with things that could make him act like that, but I was left without an answer. Maybe we were out of money, or maybe he is exhausted from the trip to the market, or maybe he knew I used the water for my garden...but none of these would warrant such a reaction from him. Even in the darkest times, he'd always put a smile on his face for me.
The temperature rose in the afternoon as I hugged my knees and dug my toes into the dusty soil and I could feel my skin on my shoulders growing tighter as it burned under the hot sun. No sound came from inside the house and I started to worry. My back cracked as I stretched upward and I stumbled dizzily into the door, closing it with a soft click behind me. I crept slowly and quietly towards my parents' room, trying my best not to make a sound. I hadn't known it at the time, but the pulse of my heart that pounded in my ears was justified. What was I so afraid of? It wasn't until I peaked around the corner did I know. My dad stood stoically over the frail frame of my mother. She wasn't breathing anymore. She wasn't there. His knees hit the hardwood floor with a crack that made my take in the air around me instantly. I clapped my hand over my mouth and my tears made salty mud from the dirt that caked my hands. That's where I made my mistake. I should have cried. I should have made a sound, because it was only a few second after that his head jolted back and the plastic orange bottle with the white lid dropped to the floor. It bounced and spiraled in a tight circle, weightless. I sat there and watched as his tired body collapsed to the ground and white foam bubbled from his lips. It was just like that. I was too late.
And it was just like that. Roland was dead with a dagger in his chest, Marv fled for his life, and I hid behind the counter just like I did last year. It doesn't matter who was alive now and it doesn't matter that I finally fired an arrow at the man who threw my flower to the ground. All that matters is that two more people are gone because I was too afraid to do anything to stop it.
I give up.
-Bindi